


Dwight Fairfield's Guide to Impeccable Leadership

by ShitMcgee



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gore, M/M, Slow Burn, tagging as I go along, there's meg/claudette but it's not the focus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitMcgee/pseuds/ShitMcgee
Summary: Four strangers and their fight to survive.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Jake Park
Kudos: 21





	Dwight Fairfield's Guide to Impeccable Leadership

A soft hum lingers in the air. Low and nearly inaudible amidst the call of crickets. It mimics the flow of wind, sweeps itself with the breeze and stirs blades of dead grass. There’s a light, tickling sensation along his eyelids. Gentle breath like grazes against the delicate surface rouse him from a fitful slumber, with all the enticing humanity of nameless whispers. 

Dwight blinks, the sticky feeling of drool caught against his chin. Sleep still hung in cobwebs in the depths of his mind. Ever tempting the man’s exhaustion even as bleary eyes widen on an unfamiliar treeline and the shake of dead shrubs. There’s a dull throbbing behind his sockets. A steady swell that beats with increasing intensity. Hammering his mind into precision. Through the shroud of branches, moonlight reaches. It’s illumination comes in splotches, hindered by the rustle of foliage. Shadows sway and tempt the dark to extend, to overtake what little could be seen. Amid shrubs the undergrowth halts, a clearing sweeps around him. Empty, save for a campfire speckled with dying ashes, and lingering sweet smelling smoke that wisps away into the low mist. Cans of soda, plastic bags, and overturned glass bottles of murky liquid litter the space. 

A pale hand feels for his glasses, only to find them absent upon his sweaty features. He stirs, sits up, squints at every blurry movement of the dark. “Shit” His whisper goes shared with no audience, and he pats blindly along the soil. Fingertips press to crinkling leaves, patches of grass, something small that squirms to crawl and equally inspect him, until the plastic leg comes. Pulling a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, he carefully wipes down the lenses. 

They lay crooked upon his nose as he breathes deeply, nostrils flaring. His sight splinters in small, reflective cracks, nothing new to him and the ancient pair of lenses. Yet, never this bad. With a groan, Dwight rises, body sore. Muscles aching from the uncomfortable position. Amongst the crawl of insects that buzz to each other across the blanket of night, near droning as they gather in unison-- comes distant wildlife. Flocking from branch to branch, skittering along lopsided trunks, bounding through tall grass, and settling to rest against the earth. Nothing is out of place. Nothing but the choked lone inhale of a man. His eyes suddenly fixed on an empty, white, familiar paper cup. The initials DF scrawled into the side with sharpie. 

His head spins, the clearing swirls as if he stood on a record’s edge. Nausea seizes his stomach. Dwight stumbles to the nearest trunk, heaving as the strong scent of alcohol overtakes his senses. Pale hand clutching the white fabric of his dress shirt, hoping pointlessly that holding it would ease the dizzy spell. 

The foggy haze that settled upon every memory, as if he was a man with no name, no job, breaks at the first coherent thought to overtake it. 

_ I’m gonna throw up. _

Dwight hurls, body curling as his scalp scrapes bark. A retching sound that disturbs and quiets the woods. The empty woods. Lacking another human being, filled only with its usual inhabitants, and the intruder Dwight had quickly become. The acidic sensations burn his nose, his dry throat, bring a dampness that borders on tears to his eyes that still lack focus. 

“G-Huh-- Guys.” His broken voice calls, swallowing back another feeling as impulsive as vomiting. Though it beats behind his eyes, aching to break the faulty dam. 

The crackle of comforting flames had long since left. All that remained was charred wood. 

“Very funny…” Another fatuous whisper. 

His gaze doesn’t shift from the empty campsite. The memories that now mingle fresh in his mind. The folding chairs that were set and sat in what must have been hours ago. The moonshine passed around, bitterly drank, cups raised to the skies in celebration of nothing. Grins shared like the devilish smiles of cheaters, lips upturned as their cards rang triumphant, and the bets drew on. Bets placed then brought to life by the bumbling fool. Always so trusting. Amusing as a dog fetching a stick no one had thrown. 

Dwight pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shutting with hopes to recall something useful. Voices mesh in his mind, but ring silent reminders. Didn’t they plan to stay overnight? What were the tents for? Maybe they set up camp elsewhere. Maybe it was just a part of the joke. 

His knuckles press brutally into his temples. They dig and move in slow circular motions, hoping to still the violent thuds still echoing against his skull.

Whatever the case may be, they would have to come back and fetch him once he didn’t turn up at the new campsite. They’d come, giggling, apologizing, and patting his back. Reminding him it was in good jest. And Dwight would smile. Just happy to be a part of the group. Reassured, he sighs, a subtle frown stuck to his features, permanent as the worried crease between his brows, or the wrinkles on his forehead. His scarred hand draws slowly through matted near black hair still damp with sweat. Short strands knotted then parted with the steady comb of his fingertips. He loosens the taut black tie striped with orange, stretching his neck as it tinges with sharp pain. 

_ I’ll just wait. _

The man rocks back and forth on black business casual shoes. Heels digging into the soil then standing on nothing but the tips of his toes. Silent. Dreading what should happen if they took too long to return. Dwight shivers, arms speckled with goosebumps. He hadn’t noticed before, not with the lingering warmth of alcohol. Another biting breeze stirs the nearby flora. Rustling the specks of color that dot deep green bushes and vines. 

His arms cross. Shielding as best he could from the chill. Why didn’t he bring something warm? The cold seeps beneath his thin attire. Trickling through the layers until his skin tingled with every hesitant movement. Dwight swallows, hunching to trap whatever heat still remained. Though it swept away, stolen by the wind. Leaving him with nothing but a sudden piercing fear. When had they ever remembered him? Other than to chide, or poke fun. Playful of course. Harmless. Always with his best intentions at heart. To remind him to eat better, so he didn’t look so unattractive. Or to sleep more, so that he didn’t look so disinterested when they spoke to him. To lose the twin bead and leather bracelets on his wrist, they made him seem feminine, didn’t they? Dwight tongues his cheek, a sour taste in his mouth. Like his teeth had sunk into something long expired. 

But something was different tonight. Or had been anyways... A strange acceptance amongst his coworkers. Open ears and eyes, thoughtful responses, careful questions. Enough that Dwight let his quivering hand take hold of the white paper cup. Stand steady as a drink was poured. Chug it down to friendly faces and hope to god he didn’t regret it. He didn’t pray enough, apparently. 

His alcohol tolerance was pathetic, to say the least. The man reflects as he sits before the abandoned fire. Must have been funny to watch him fall apart like that. Always held together by a wavering thread, glistening and near invisible. The weak smile that adorned his features turning to something wild yet somber. Reckless and eager to appease. Anything that would keep him the star of the conversation for months to come. Then only drooping eyes, a tired grin before he passed out. Snoring, probably. 

Dwight scoffs. Clyde always said he snored. He thinks of the younger sibling fondly, as he rests his chin on his forearm. Knees up and close to him. Arms laying a top them. They’d shared a room and just about everything inside. The closet, the bunk bed, the dresser, the bathroom. God he was so annoying. He smiles fondly. Clyde’s hair was always a dust brighter than Dwight’s. It comes to him first in the sea of memories. Careful to pick out the thought, rather than lose himself in crashing waves. A lighter brown. But his face was just as plump and rosy as Dwight’s. Hell, even now his mom said his baby fat showed. The remark always followed a tight pinch to faded freckles that speckled his face. Thankfully, not his gut. 

...He should pay them a visit. It’s been too long. 

His hazel eyes draw away from the treeline, and settle on his nails instead. Just as quickly he’s nipping at them. Pulling dead skin, ripping it away. Gnawing his lips at the pain but continuing all the same. He thinks of nothing now. Mind numb but intent on the pointless task. 

Time passes but holds no weight in the moment. Dwight stares at the bleeding, irritated skin. Flushed and dotted with drying rust-red. An odd feeling in his mouth at the steadily growing droplet. It shines beneath the moon, still high in the sky, or perhaps some ways off from where it had been earlier when Dwight first awoke alone. A thought comes. One that should have arrived the second he woke up. He digs through his back pocket, until he latches onto the old flip phone. Nearly dead, but just enough to make a call. 

Dwight stares blankly at a nearly empty contact list. 

The only coworker he’s exchanged numbers with is Jonathan. Well, the only one that would help him much. It didn’t seem practical to call his mom. Not now. She was probably asleep. Clyde wasn’t even in the state. Calling his father was just embarrassing. It’s bad enough it had taken Dwight so long to leave the household. Now he was looking for a rescue from the middle of the woods at midnight. Besides, dad was busy. Far too preoccupied with managing his own life. He’d only offer a message teetering on disdain anyways. 

_ Don’t you have your own car Dwight? Why don’t you ask one of your friends? Aren’t you close with them? Haven’t they helped you before? They didn’t leave you, did they-- Dwight? _ The voice rings. Sometimes it asks questions he knows to be true only to his family. Reality hidden under kind, reassuring promises and lies. It was second nature now. For the better, of course. 

He presses the cell to his ear. Listening to the ring. It’s steady blare comes again. And again. It must be lying discarded somewhere. Put aside as he mingles with the others. Enjoying another shot. Letting the bitter taste wash over his spirit and melt worries, at least for a little while. What was Dwight thinking? Pestering him like this.

“Hellooo?” A familiar perky voice prompts. One that everyone knew well around the office. 

“Oh! Hey!” He blinks, startled by the voice.

“Need something?” There’s a murmur on the line. As if he stood in a crowd. 

“Uh, funny you ask. Cause yeah. I’m… kinda. Lost.” 

“Lost?”

“Where is everyone?”

“...”

“John?” The buzz grows in volume, there’s a loud snicker. A whisper that sounds like his name. Then a quick, swift shushing sound. 

“I’m so sorry Dwight.” It almost sounds genuine. 

“Yeah, it’s okay. Can you help me?” Swallowing whatever dignity Dwight still held firm to, he continues, voice crackling slightly. “Please?” 

“Where are you?”

“Uh. At the last campsite? Do-- Does anyone know where I am?” 

“...”

The phone is dead. 

Dwight watches the dark screen, its last bit of power blinking away and joining the night. A frigid feeling overcomes his insides. Encroaching on the calming pump of blood through his body. Forcing it to slow, and freeze. His veins like icicles threading the skin and muscle. A shiver racks his form. The last source of light-- the melting wax of a dwindling candle. Burning until it’s final moment. Wisped carefully from existence with nothing but a second of smoke behind. Always knowing its time was limited and measured. 

Has he been breathing like this the whole time? In rapid flows that dart in and out of tight lungs. Mouth parted desperately, near choking, vision bouncing from each meaningless sight to the next. As if it were the last thing he’d ever see. The expanse above gazes down silently. Detached yet all-encompassing. It’s mauve, dusted with tufts of gray. Sometimes it nearly fades to pink hues, and further on, just barely seen, plum colored corners; If the sky were to have limits. Blocking out the full view are pitchblack branches. Bustles of leaves that blanket him from the world. Dirt over a coffin. 

His hands clutch dark hair, eyes shutting tightly. This wasn’t time to jump to conclusions. There’s a way to go about this. He shudders, body damp with sweat and chilled all the same. In a mental limbo. Moving delicately between the states of mind. Nervous but alert. Over the edge or toe the line. In that familiar blinding whirlwind, panic piecing together what would keep him alive. Then tearing foolish plans apart, like wildlife would soon do to him if he wasn’t both creative and practical. 

Maybe he was overthinking this. They could be out looking for him now. His limbs quiver with the rising cold. 

Dwight scours his recollection of the hours past. He can picture it almost perfectly with the matching surroundings. The others sat around, mingling, casting glances his way. He’d spoken to someone, more than the rest. Shared a smoke. Eased his anxiety however briefly in their company. --Sam… it was Sam. With a cigarette pinched between her lips and an exhausted look swathed in dusty blonde locks. She’d dropped her lighter after lighting him one. Couldn’t find it. Didn’t bother.

Dwight rises, nearly leaps for an overturned log some ways off from the campfire. Secluded, as he runs his hands along the grass surrounding it. Buried amongst weeds, a small, cool metal rectangle. It shines a low blue in the dim light. Just a bit smaller than his palm. There was enough fuel inside, but not enough to rekindle without more wood. He nears the edge of the clearing, snaps off healthy branches from bushes, and plucks the sticks laying about the bottoms of trunks. He gathers the bundle, picks off remaining leaves, then places them in the makeshift pit. Rocks positioned into a small circle. 

It takes a moment of nearly burning his fingertips for the flames to catch and stir. He fuels them carefully. Feeds it bit by bit until the reds mesh with orange. Flowing higher, higher. Bringing the clearing to life once more. Feeling returns to his hands as he leans close to the growing light. Numbness easing away with every lick of fire. The smoke goes on. A hazy pillar stretching to the skies. Hot hues play against the trunks, and reach deep into the forest. A glowing beacon for the wanderer. Blood rushes back to his body gradually. And like the flames, a will revived. 

He listens to the comforting crackles, and eyes the embers that fall like flakes of snow. Snapped out from the source, then swaying gently. Disappearing in red flicks against the soil. After a while, he studies his wrist watch. It ticks every second, hand jumping and stopping beneath the clear glass. 2 o’ clock in the morning. Dwight doesn’t bat an eye, as the familiar crawl of the hour continues. Exhaustion pulling at his limbs, yet never relenting enough to let sleep fall like a warm blanket. Wide-eyed, the man stares nowhere, dazed and wishing for-- at the very least-- his cramped apartment’s walls. Protection from the outside, his own hideaway. Crowded with filthy clothes, trash, empty boxes of long eaten sweets, and the occasional abandoned pineapple pizza slice. Nothing to envy, not usually. With the wild forest stretching about him in all directions, it suddenly seemed so. 

Somewhere, a ways off his rinky dink car is parked along an empty street. A cheesy pizza charm swinging on the mirror. Another for the doomed startup he worked for now. His ride stacked with half-full cups from fast food joints. The stale scent of lunch clinging to worn leather seats. The dented metal and accompanied headlight swinging by a thread. What he wouldn’t give to be there now, listening to some god-awful pop song, bobbing his head like a maniac to every erratic beat. Just happy to be driving home safe. 

Dwight sighs. Woeful and tired to his core. If no one shows up by morning. He’ll have to start trekking the way back alone. There might be some tracks. Hopefully enough to lead him back on the path they’d strayed from to set up camp--

The underbrush shakes, branches rattling with movement, twigs snapping beneath a tentative weight. His pale hand latches onto a rock, quivering with fear. Adrenaline pounding in his ears as a low silhouette flits between shrubs. Closer. Unrelenting in its intent to emerge and face Dwight in the clearing. He’s just about ready to yell, throw the pebble, or curl into a ball when the pointed nose of a possum follows it’s lithe skittering form. Dark fur blends with the soil and bark. Beady eyes study him before it scampers off. 

Feeling stupid, he lies down. Arms crossed and hunched to his knees against the floor. He remains this way for an indiscernible amount of time, until he dozes. Restless and paranoid beneath the blare of crows that circle high overhead. 

***

Reawakened in a dream state, Dwight eyes the world in question. It’s identical to the clearing from last night, yet not the same at all. A ring of trees surround him, but nothing lies beyond. As if he stood on an island, detached from the world and floating through a pitch black sea. The campfire-- the flames that bound and swirl repetitively, continue in that same rhythm. Never ceasing, never growing. The wood from which it burned is long gone. Yet it casts the fiery hues. Curious, and lucid, Dwight reaches forward, watching it lick and singe his skin. 

Fog lays thick over the small space. A haze that curls into his nostrils, infects his mind like a parasite caught in spores. Mist sneaks through his ears, seeps into the crevices around his eye. It feeds him bit by bit, a false sense of security to his dejected psyche. He shifts, but finds his body slow to react. As if tied by countless, thin, threads of silk. Soon to be cocooned, and inevitably-- consumed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated! The boys will likely meet next ch  
> (Catch me editing this 50 times)


End file.
